26 April, 2012
Me, Ulle, and the Coming of a Wind
We sit in the dark and silent still.
Staring up at millions of stars.
One falls, blazing red, appearing
from behind The Great Neem.
Everything is silent, everything is still.
It's almost never silent here. The radio is off.
Ulle doesn't like the radio, she explains.
The children are asleep in a row on their mat.
It is hot.
We near no baby cry.
A rare and silent peace
held firm in place by an unyielding heat.
A rolling roar arrives in the East.
Stroking each branch of each Baobab.
A forest that remains, housing the dead.
The Great Neem above us is quiet.
But we listen.
The Wild Hunt arrives.
The Great Neem springs into motion.
Branches dancing and leaves jostling.
This explosion of movement
breaks the still.
The heat remains, but not unmoved.
We revel in the newness,
the Dynamic Shift.
Scorpions come out with the wind, she explains.
With flashlight trained on the row of children,
their stillness unbroken, she tells me a story.
Our laughter touches each leaf of each branch of The Great Neem.
It is picked up by The Wild Hunt
and carried on with it's journey
to the next village
to the next continent
to the next Dynamic Shift